


Mentoring Program

by evxdevo



Category: Orphan Black (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-21
Updated: 2014-09-21
Packaged: 2018-02-18 07:46:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2340623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evxdevo/pseuds/evxdevo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Growing up - that's some tough shite to deal with. It's even weirder when you've got five older siblings who think they know exactly what it's like to be you. A story told by Charlotte Bowles, prompted by geoclaire.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mentoring Program

**Author's Note:**

> Content Warnings: suicide mention, food mentions, uhhh they talk about puberty??

Growing up - that's some tough shite to deal with.

 

I learned that word from Sarah, couple years ago. Oh - I should mention: Sarah's my big sister. I have a bunch of those. A big brother, too. Love them all.

 

They've helped a lot with the whole "growing up" thing. Well, they had a lot of advice to give, anyway. They mean well.

 

So, yeah, Sarah taught me to curse when I was 11. Taught by example, mostly. It's just in her nature, I guess. Hard for her to censor herself. Then one day I banged my toe on the coffee table and accidentally yelled out _shite_ and Sarah laughed so hard at my innocent little swearing that she couldn't stand up.

 

Alison wasn't so amused. She's the one who does stuff like helping me organize my dresser drawers and telling me to do my homework and making the most heavenly lasagna. She's kind of a second mom. I don't mind, cause without her I might never eat a non-microwaved meal. Plus, she takes me to tennis practice twice a week. I don't even know how to tell her how much that means to me. It took me a long time to try any sport - you know, ‘cause of my leg. But Alison kept insisting, kept telling me I should try whatever sport I wanted to. That I would figure it out, and I did. She kept telling me about Beth, kept saying what Beth would say: "Your body doesn't dictate your ability. You do."

 

Beth was my sister, too. She was a runner. I never met her, though, because she died before I even knew I had sisters. For the longest time, Alison wouldn't tell me how she died. She said it was a big accident, that we shouldn't dwell on it. I was 12 when Cosima finally told me. I bet they argued about it for three hours before Alison agreed that I should know. Cosima explained it by saying that Beth was really sad and really stressed, and she was worried all the time and she couldn't handle keeping all the secrets inside her head. I don't know what the secrets were. I don’t think Cosima knows either. Anyway, Beth jumped in front of a train. Suicide. Cosima is the only one who never talks to me like I'm a baby.

 

That’s why I asked her for help first. Seventh grade is a shit time overall, really. I got loaded down with busy work, fill-in-the blank, teach-to-the-test. The hallways were too loud, too crowded, and the lock on my locker always got stuck, and, when I was late to class because of it, I got detention. Every. Time. I didn’t need everything else on top of that. I didn’t need the creepy lunchroom monitor man making eyes at me while I ate. I didn’t need all the whispered rumors about me.

 

“ _That one, she’s a science experiment. I heard it from my mom who works at the hospital._ ”

“ _D’yah think they were trying to make a superhuman and screwed it up?_ ”

“ _Nah, that’s bullshit. Her leg’s all fucked up ‘cause her parents were brother and sister. Bet her brain’s fucked, too._ ”

 

I don’t even know where they heard about it. All I know is that none of them really believed it, but they stared at me like a fish in a tank anyway. Seventh graders like having something to gawk at. Mostly, I didn’t need the boy who used to be my friend to push me into the dirt during recess, just to prove to his cronies that he didn’t associate with me anymore.

 

Anyway, I told it all to Cosima. She said she knew what it was like, getting teased. Then she said she knew that didn’t help.

 

She taught me how to stare into someone’s eyes instead of looking down at my shoes. She taught me to say, “Go away” like I’m not afraid. But they all just laughed at that, so she sighed and taught me how to say, “Get the hell away from me.” Then she taught me to yell it. She taught me to glare up at the creepy lunch man when he looked at me, to scowl and spit half-chewed food onto a napkin until he looked away in disgust.

 

“You are not made for people to stare at, Charlotte.”

 

Cosima taught me to take up my own space.

 

Sometimes glaring isn’t quite enough, though. When Helena heard what was going on, she kneeled down, took both my hands in hers, and looked me right in the eye.

 

“Baby sestra,” she said, because that’s what she calls me, because that’s the only time I don’t mind being called a baby.

 

“Baby sestra,” she said, “Elbows are very good for fighting.”

 

I’ve never beaten anyone up. But I know how to. Kick to the groin, elbow to the stomach, fist to the nose. Foot to the back of the knee. Run.

 

Helena showed me how to bare my teeth at the lunch man.

 

“Pretend you are an animal,” she said, “Pretend you will bite off his stupid little nose if he walks to you.” So I did pretend.

 

I was glad when middle school ended.

 

I think it’s all down to my older siblings that puberty was such a mess. They have all the same genes as me, you know, so they all thought they knew exactly what would happen to my body.

 

Sarah got her period when she was 12. Cosima was 12 and a half. Alison was 13. Tony got his period at 13, too, but he’s stopped getting it because of his testosterone. So, they all tried to predict when I would start. Sarah was ready with tampons on my 12th birthday, and Alison packed pads into my suitcase when I went to sleepaway camp that summer. But you just can’t predict those things - I bled through my pants at tennis practice four days after I turned 13. Five identical faces winced in unison when I told them.

 

Cosima’s the one who took me bra shopping for the first time. That was an experience. She knows more about bras than any person should, I think. She walked down the aisles and pulled them off the shelves - padded bras, push-ups, fancy lacy ones. One had a picture of a penguin on each cup. She held them up in front of her shirt in the mirror and pretended to model them, right there in the middle of the store. She was cracking up. 11-year-old me was mortified.

 

Here’s another thing that mortified me: pimples. I hate them with a passion. And my skin face breaks out _all over_.

 

Alison had a myriad of creams to recommend - “Use these two at night, then these in the morning.” Cosima suggested various uses of lemon and honey, and Sarah taught me how to use concealer. When I asked her about it, Helena kissed each pimple on my face and said, “You are the most beautiful, Baby Sestra.”

 

Gotta admit, I didn’t really buy it.

 

Tony only drops by now and then, but whenever he does he takes me for a special treat somewhere. Once we walked around in a sculpture garden and took turns posing like the statues and taking pictures. We always get ice cream or cupcakes or something, too, at a bakery in the city.

 

“Damn, kid,” he says, every time without fail, “You’re gonna turn out alright.”

 

Y’know, somehow, with input coming in from all sides, with four sisters and a brother cheering me on, holding me up, making me laugh, spinning me around the living room to the music - I think I might just turn out alright.

 


End file.
